James & Margaret
by Jack Borroughs
Summary: After the war, Falsworth and Peggy get involved, but how does the memory of Steve Rogers bode for the relationship?
1. Prologue

The first time he truly noticed her, he'd been drinking his second pint of bitter and singing half-forgotten lyrics to _'There's a Tavern in the Town'_ along with four of the six men he'd live and fight side by side with for the years to follow.

Later he'd learn she was there the day him and another four hundred men followed the Captain into Camp Sentinel. At the time she was in uniform, and he was starved, exhausted and just glad he wasn't going to die in a cage. Before that he'd accepted that he was going to die, worked to death or killed at a jailer's sadistic whims. He hadn't surrendered, even in captivity, but he'd given up on doing things like singing, warm English beer, and women.

She slunk through the smoke and dim light, creamy white curves in a red dress and red lipstick, stopping conversations and grabbing eyes in her wake. Someone in the pub has the presence of mind to wolf whistle, and she's gone to the backroom.

2nd Lieutenant James Montgomery Falsworth, the 6th Baron Falsworth, recently of the 3rd Parachute Brigade, was no stranger to women. Stemming from his station, female companions weren't hard to come by. Before joining the service, he'd been one of London's bohemian idle rich, _the Bright Young People_ as the tabloids called them, which afforded him the company of a bevy of beautiful, often exotic women. As his American friends would say, _He'd been around_.

So when he saw the woman in red, he knew not to pay the flutter in his heart any mind. She was beautiful, unquestionably, but he'd been a prisoner of war for some time, and many women looked stunning right then. He also was quite enjoying the revelry.

He pushed her out of mind, as his compatriots made swooning remarks, and as if to prove how less susceptible to the charms of the fairer kind, he made a remark about them all needing to drink more and called for a round of the pub's finest Scotch, which wasn't saying much. He didn't even notice when she walked out a short time later.

He changed his mind the following morning, and if didn't he would have when he learned they were soon heading for Carickfergus, Ireland for commando training. He'd heard about what it was like, and knew if he was going to endure it for a month, he'd better get his fill of a beautiful woman then.

Her name was Margaret Carter, though she more often went by Peggy. She was a London girl, a former officer of the Special Operations Executive, who'd since become one of the top people at the inter-allied Strategic Scientific Reserve, a different kind of woman than he was used to. Courtesy of Sergeant Barnes he learned that she was Captain Rogers' sweetheart, and then he knew he'd have to cast his affections elsewhere.

He quite liked the Captain. He owed the Captain his life, and he'd agreed to be second-in-command of his newly-commissioned unit with Barnes and the others. An infatuation wasn't worth souring the camaraderie he'd developed with Rogers.

He'd forgotten about her less than a week into training. After Carrickfergus came fourteen months of battle. Agent Carter had become the Howling Commandos' overseer, so they often worked together. They also socialized along with everyone else when the commandos were on liberty in London. He never felt any feelings for her, and joined in the pool the Commandos had with a few people at the SSR, betting on when Rogers and Carter were going to make love and be done with it.

He saw her for the first time in days in the Stork Club, dressed to the nines, hair and makeup immaculate, sitting at a table by herself, somberly rebuffing the advances of any man that approached.

Rogers was gone, so was Barnes, so was Schmidt. Everything was changed, and so fast. The one thing that hadn't changed was that there was a war going on.

Colonel Philips informed him that morning that he was to be in command of the Commandos. He'd spent the day going through possible recruits to make up the numbers, pretending to be unaffected that his best friend died a week ago. Frustrated, he took to the streets, wandering until he arrived at the Club, and for the past fifteen minutes he just stood, watching her.

No one was really sure about what was said between Rogers and Carter in the end. He suspected the Colonel knew, but he wasn't about to ask him. Looking at her, the way she looked and the way she looked wistfully toward the arched entrance every minute, waiting for someone, he knew she was there for _him_.

Part of him desperately wanted to reach out to her, console her, tell her everything was going to be alright. But he didn't know how, he was as lost as she was, and he wasn't sure it was ever going to be alright.

The new Howling Commandos saw action for the rest of the war. They were among the first in on Operation Plunder, they defeated several rogue pockets of Hydra troops, and they captured the notorious war criminal von Strucker before he could escape out of Germany.

But despite their success, they knew they couldn't keep it up for long. Dernier announced that he wanted to return to Marseilles to be with his wife and son. Morita and Joes followed soon.

Thus the Howling Commandos came to an end. The new recruits were transferred to another unit and Morita, Jones and Dernier were discharged, only Dugan and Falsworth remained in the service. He understood why it had to happen. They were the same as any other squad now, well trained and devoted to each other, but gone was the powerful sense of brotherhood and the thrill of adventure. Dugan no longer mocked his British stiffness, Jones and Dernier no longer talked with each other in French and Morita spoke with far less sarcasm.

They were tired, and it wasn't the same anymore. So on VE-Day, they gathered at the Stork Club to drink to the memory of fallen friends and disband the fellowship.

As he raises his glass and toasts, "To the Captain", he can't help think Ms. Carter should be there.

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


	2. Baker's Dozen

In the Spring of '47, now Captain Falsworth was on leave in London, going for a walk through Hyde Park, when he saw a familiar face. On a bench by the Weeping Beech sat Peggy Carter by herself, wearing a brown dress, reading a book.

"Agent Carter?"

She looked up to see a man in uniform, and held up a hand to block the sunlight keeping her from seeing him clearly.

"Lord Falsworth?"

"The one and only." He said with a smile, "It's been ages."

"I'll say." She said, "A Captain, I see. I thought you would have left the service by now."

"It suited me too well, I'm afraid. What about you? Is it still Agent Carter?"

"I'm afraid not. I work for the BBC, now." She said, then moved her purse closer to herself, freeing up some space on the bench, "You don't need to keep standing."

"Thank you." He said as he sat down next to her.

"What do you do in the BBC?"

"I'm a researcher in the foreign affairs section."

"Married?"

"No. You?"

"No. I was briefly engaged, right after the war."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"It would seem the euphoria of victory doesn't lead to good decision making."

"Do you live in London?"

"Not quite. I'm stationed at Hereford. I'm just here to help mother with some family business."

"Morita was married late in '45. Yes, to a lovely young girl called Grace. I believe he's in University at the moment."

"Good for him." Said Peggy, then inspecting her wristwatch she followed, "I'm really glad we got a chance to catch up, but I should be getting back to work."

"Absolutely." He said and got up along with her, and helped gather her belongings.

"Listen, why don't you have dinner with me?"

"Dinner?"

"Yes. I've got a standing reservation at Café Royal. We could catch up some more, if you like."

"I would have loved to…" she said, "But I already have plans for tonight."

"I see. Anything you can perhaps reschedule?"

She smiled and shook her head to the negative.

"Well, alright."

"I'm very sorry." She said, "Next time you're in London, do look me up."

"I will." He said, "And next time, I'm not expecting 'no' for an answer."

She laughed and they bid each other farewell.

She was on his thoughts for the rest of the day. On the train back to Hereford, he wondered what plans she had, and if whoever bastard she shared them with had any idea how lucky he was.

She was different, now. Softer, more feminine, the shackles she and many others wore at wartime finally cast-off. They'd talked about their mutual acquaintances, General Philips and the Commandos, but not about the Captain. He'd avoided it, not wanting to cause her any undue grief.

There wasn't much to talk about anyway, he was gone, for two years the week before. Some have tried to find him, like a group of prominent Americans, Howard Stark included, funding expeditions to find the Valkyrie bomber which would've acted as his tomb. But he was gone, and everyone who knew him and cared for him had to make their peace with that fact, and that there wouldn't be another like him.

* * *

><p>On his next trip to London, he visited the gentlemen's club in Mayfair known as 'Saber' at the invitation of his superior, Colonel Hardy, whom he was accompanying to London for a series of meeting with MOD officials.<p>

Going off to speak with someone important, Colonel Harding left him in the company of four men dressed in Saville Row's best, military-bred by their looks, except for one, a smallish man with graying hair and diabolic charm, styling himself Harry Wisdom.

"Do you know who I am?" the man said.

"No."

"Good. That means I've been doing my job, to not distinguish myself. You've also been doing your job; distinguishing yourself enough to gain my interest."

"Have I?"

"Yes you have. You've got a stellar record. Earned a DSO, two MCs, the Croix de Guerre, and even a Silver Star. Served in the 3rd Parachute Brigade, SSR and now the Special Air Service. Brother John was a Nazi sympathizer, but if you fault a man for his relatives, too many very competent men would be out of a job.

"You come highly touted, by Colonel Hardy as well as some clever people who work for me. How would you like to work for his majesty's secret service?"

Harry Wisdom talked quite a bit after that, while Falsworth listened. Wisdom explained why he thought Falsworth was a good fit for the secret service, particularly in regards to a pressing mission on hand. Suffice to say he was convincing, as he readily recognized and pointed out that Falsworth, like so many men who'd braved the fires of the war without being singed, was restless; torn between the monotony of peace and the horror of, craving adventure.

He said he'd consider it, and Colonel Hardy returned shortly after that, making no indication he was aware of what had transpired in his absence, nor was he interested.

* * *

><p>In the Airborne, a widespread motto was '<em>Utrinque Paratus<em>', or 'Ready for Anything', but meeting Baker's Dozen proved to be on the very edge of 'Anything'.

He was in a café in Vauxhall called 'The Chestnut', out of uniform, in a suit, and was having a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette, on extended leave from the regiment, waiting for an SIS case officer codenamed Baker's Dozen.

He'd accepted Wisdom's offer, of course. He would remain a man of the regiment, but he'd also be working for the secret intelligence service.

When his third cup of coffee arrived, so did Peggy Carter, wrapped in a beige coat and clutching her purse in one hand as she extended the other.

"Good afternoon." She said, "I'm Baker's Dozen."

Right then, Falsworth easily recognized he was wrong about her all those months ago. Carter hadn't change. Her boundless energy, her nerves of steel, her looking of daring; it was all there. She was still Agent Carter, and she had not gone soft.

* * *

><p>Short chapter is short and overdue, I know. There was more of it, but I moved it to the start of the next one since I think it meshes better that way. Next one should be up much sooner, maybe Thursdayish.<p>

**R&R**


	3. Persistance

Right after meeting Ms. Carter, the two departed to a private airfield, and from there flew to a facility in Wales. In the week the followed, Falsworth underwent extensive training in preparation for the mission for which he was recruited.

For three weeks that followed, Falsworth underwent extensive training under the eyes of Ms. Carter and a Mr. Ridley. He was taught to brush up on is Russian, to recognize certain items, patterns and tells, among a myriad of other things; tricks of the spy trade to complement his combat training for which he was recruited.

Of course, as he eventually found out, it wasn't just his skill and training as a commando, there were other reasons he was recruited, reasons that went back to the war, and the only mission in which the Howling Commandos fought alongside Soviet forces.

As Stalin's forces marched on in the East, special German forces were dispatched t halt their advance, armed with a superweapon developed by Wolfgang von Strucker, Johan Schmidt's rival in the Nazi apparatus.

The Howlers, having ample experience with that sort of thing, were sent to join a Soviet force led by a Colonel Vasily Karpov. Alongside the Howlers, at the tip of the force were an elite Russian unit codenamed the Winter Guards, lead by a Captain Alexei Shostakov.

During the mission, Falsworth was set apart from the Howlers, leading a separate squad of SSR soldiers and engineers, with the purpose observing, and making sure the super-weapon wasn't captured safely.

The German force was defeated, though von Strucker had escaped. However, the victory came at considerable cost for the Soviets, as Colonel Karpov was particularly overzealous in his pursuit, and that, coupled with Morita being injured during the mission, lead Rogers and Barnes to a bitter verbal altercation.

As for Falsworth, his team succeeded in covertly sabotaging the weapon, avoiding being seen, though Karpov could sense the involvement of non-Soviet forces, which he could do nothing about and only served to further his humiliation.

The Howlers never saw action on the Eastern front after that, Karpov became notably anti-Western after that, and Captain Shostakov, since promoted to a Major, had gone to join the much-rumored KGB-off shoot known as Department X, for all intents and purposes, a Soviet Hydra.

As Carter informed him, Shostakov would be in Vienna early next month to oversee an intelligence sale with an American official. Falsworth, having the distinct advantage of being able to recognize Shostakov whereas Shostakov couldn't do the same to him, would serve as a point-man ahead of Carter and Ridley, and if needs be, pursue any forceful course of action required.

* * *

><p>Falsworth looked out the window at the cobblestoned streets of Vienna's neutral area. Citizens and military policemen passed outside, and coming from somewhere, he could oddly heart zither music.<p>

"It's almost time." Ms. Carter said, sitting "Are you nervous?"

"Just a little."

"Well, the most important thing is to keep your calm."

"Is that all?" he asked, and she smiled, understanding his point.

"To tell the truth, what I feel odd is about one of our targets being an American."

"At a time when we were working for the SSR, the OSS was focused on getting as many German scientists into the US, denying their knowledge not only to the USSR, but to Britain as well.

"A new war is beginning, and like the last time, we're hampered by comparatively limited means, so we must stay ahead by harnessing that most valuable of arms; intelligence."

"I understand. It's just odd, not long ago, still now actually, my closest friends have all been Americans."

Instantly, he felt he shouldn't have said what he said, and feared she got the implication that he was alone in having loved ones who were American, dismissing her own feelings for a particular one.

"It's time." She said. If she was offended or hurt, she was doing a great job of holding it in.

He got up and put on his coat. Standing at the door wit his hat in hand, he looked back and said,

"Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck. You're ready."

Outside, he crossed the street to a nearby nightclub he'd frequented all week and was where Alexi Shostakov was expected to make an appearance that night.

He was a little more nervous than he'd let on. The truth was, as he wanted to serve his country and prove himself, he didn't want to fail her. He was more than embarrassed about it, but the fact was his infatuation with her had returned during those weeks in Wales, and had grown since.

She was one of a few female wartime agents that the bosses at British Intelligence deemed worth keeping on in peacetime. She'd garnered a reputation as a force to be reckoned with who would brook no disrespect or suffer foolishness. Behind her back, some had even taken to referring to her as 'The Governor'.

She wasn't his usual type. Before the war, his type were vapid pretty girls who would rely on him. But then he wasn't the same person he used to be. While once he was a little bored lord, he was now a proud soldier, so perhaps his type of women had accordingly changed. Perhaps that was why he'd never been able to form a lasting relationship since the war, or why his engagement failed.

Stepping through the doors of the Casanova Club, Falsworth decided it wasn't such a good time to be contemplating love and relationship. He went to the bar, and ordered his usual, and waited for Shostakov to appear.

* * *

><p>Days later, he stood in Wisdom's office in the SIS's building in Vauxhall, among a gathering of Widsom's spies and underlings, celebrating the mission's success.<p>

"Bravo, Falsworth." Said Wisdom, holding up his glass of brandy, "Carter and Ridley always distinguish themselves, but you've been truly blooded."

"Blooded?" Falsworth asked.

"Fox hunting term. Haven't you ever gone hunting, with your father perhaps?"

"My father left us when I was quite young, sir."

"Ah. Well, when you've hunted your first fox, the tail's severed and used to smear blood on your cheek."

"I understand."

"The Russian never caught on to what hit him. Never caught on to that he was hit, actually. Good job."

He talked to Wisdom for a few more minutes before someone important began talking to Wisdom. Falsworth excused himself and headed for Ms. Carter, who had similarly lost whoever it was that had been bending her ear.

"Hello." He said.

"Hello. Have you been having a nice chat with Mr. Wisdom?"

"I have. He was just congratulating, he seemed very pleased. Come to think of it, I'm now wondering how genuine he was being."

"A spy being disingenuous? Perish the thought."

"Well, quite."

"In all seriousness, you performed admirably."

"Thank you."

"How did it make you feel?"

"Quite alive. Like in the war, but with different stakes."

"I understand what you mean."

And then he asked her out to dinner.

She declined, doing so politely, but finally, something he didn't realize until he was on the train to Hereford. At the time, he simply thought it wasn't to happen then, and was is fine spirits when he left her.

His disappointment lasted the night, but when he returned to London a few days later, this time for good, he decided he would ask her again. And he did, after he'd settled back in after a few days, and again, she declined.

And so it went on. Every few weeks, he'd ask her, and she would say no, sometimes with grace and kindness, and others with more exasperation. Every time he would be discouraged, and every time he would persist. Despite all the rejection, the attraction never went away.

And then one day, he stopped asking her out when she said 'Yes'.

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


	4. Jack

**London - 1949**

"I've got a mission for you, Major." Said Wisdom, handing Falsworth a dossier. Inside, he saw a picture of a man in a watchmaker's shop, wearing an apron.

"Eric Schmitt. Jerry scientist, believed dead since '41. Actually living under the name Richard Klauser in East Berlin. You're going to get him out."

"May I ask what is it about him we need?"

"Suffice to say the Americans and the Soviets would descend upon him like thieves in the night if they ever knew what we did, which I believe is only a matter of time."

* * *

><p><strong>1948<strong>

Deciding where to have diner was as difficult as any command decision he'd made in his career. The restaurant he picked wasn't his favorite, but it provided quality meals, and had class, but wasn't too flashy. He figured that was what Peggy could like.

She seemed to like the place enough, or just being polite. Then came the question of what to do with the rest of the night, namely, what to say.

Walking Peggy home, Falsworth was realizing he'd spent too much effort into taking her out, and not enough into planning the actual date.

"So, tonight was… _fun_."

"Yes. I was…. It really wasn't, wasn't?"

She smiled the way women like smiled when it was hurtful to say yes.

"I swear I used to be better at this sort of thing."

"I'd heard."

"Have you?"

"Simon Aubrey from SSR went to University with you. When the Howling Commandos were being reviewed, he regaled me with a few tales of your less heroic past."

"Oh." He said, embarrassed.

"Oh, yes. I know all your dirty secrets."

"Well, I feel quite naked."

"It's alright. I've heard of far worse from our esteemed peerage."

They stopped in front of her building.

"Would you like to have dinner some other time? I'll be on excellent form. Won't spill anything on you at all."

"I thought you'd be discouraged."

"You don't inspire discouragement."

"You know, some women like persistence. Others actually want you to leave them alone."

"I know." He said, "But some women are worth making an arse out of oneself."

"Goodnight, James." She said, and then walked up the steps to her front door without another word or a kiss goodnight.

* * *

><p>Three months later, he went to her home to meet the family. James went in expecting a hardened, military-bred father, a handlebar-mustached Sergeant Major, or something, and a taciturn and stern mother, the hard-nosed parents to sire a child like Peggy. Instead he found the warmest, kindliest British couple he could imagine.<p>

Peggy's father, Brian, was a bald, bespectacled little man, a cheerful type with a large heart who worked at the post office. Peggy's mother, Eleanor, was a broad-bodied, auburn-haired woman of a loquacious nature who worked as a school librarian.

Also welcoming him were Peggy's older sisters; Rose and Maud, who eyed him with intrigue tinged with suspicion, while their husbands, Paul and Bill, remained taciturn, a little bit intimidated by their sister-in-law's aristocratic suitor, and minded their combined passel of children.

One thing James noticed was how similar the Carter girls were to each other. They weren't quite identical, but they shared more features than he and his brother John had shared, and at a quick glance, any of the sisters could be confused for another. A picture hung on the wall of Brian's mother, which could've easily been one of Peggy in a Victorian dress.

The youngest of the Carter children arrived fifteen minutes after he did, Brian's only son and Peggy's only younger sibling, her brother Harrison.

He was average sized and well built, and had the same good natured humor as his father. Later, when the men spoke among themselves, he learned Harrison had fought Rommel's forces in North Africa as a Corporal in the Special Air Service.

He reminded James of Sgt. Barnes, perhaps that was why he took an instant liking to him. While Bill and Paul only stuck around long enough to size him up, and Brian eventually left to talk to the missus, he and Harrison remained for a short while longer, talking about the regiment as it was then and now.

* * *

><p>"Getting married to a Carter girl." Harrison said, "I'm so sorry life has taken such a turn for you, Jimmy."<p>

James didn't really register his best man's joking remark. He was too busy watching the most beautiful woman he'd ever known walk towards him. He wished Brian could hurry along and deliver her already.

He'd retired from the Army as a Major, opting to join what was now being called MI-6 full time. In a short time he'd made quite a name for himself in British intelligence as a special operations man, while Peggy continued her own, far more discrete role in the planning and analysis side of things.

It was late 1948, and after having known Peggy for five years, he was marrying her at the Falsworth ancestral home in Scotland, before god and their friends and families.

Howard Stark couldn't make it on account of business. Gabriel Jones could not be reached. Jim Morita apologized profusely for having end of the term exams on the day of the wedding.

Dernier and Dugan however made it, and stood as his swordsmen alongside Harrison. They'd brought their wives along, who were over the moon due to the opulent surroundings and splendor they'd never experienced before.

General Philips was also there. He'd been primed to walk Peggy down the isle if Brian's health didn't allow it, but James' father-in-law to be had pulled through. Dozens of friends and associates he'd not seen since the war or before had arrived to see them tie the knot.

While Peggy blushed for the few times in her lift, and he smiled, beaming with pride, as the priest began to speak, a horrible thought flashed through James' mind.

_'You're not the one she was meant to, Falsworth'_

"Dearly beloved…"

* * *

><p>"Falsworth. Happy New Year, and welcome back." Said Wisdom as James entered his office, "How was the honeymoon?"<p>

"It was excellent. Venice is truly remarkable."

"Was it? The missus keeps badgering me about taking a break from work. Though I imagine a Honeymoon'd be an awfully bland affair when you've spent years traveling the world, playing our game."

_'It is if it's the sights you're after'_ Falsworth thinks, but doesn't divulge.

"I'm afraid marital bliss will have to wait for a bit. I've got a mission for you, Major.

"Eric Schmitt. Jerry scientist, believed dead since '41. Actually living under the name Richard Klauser in East Berlin. You're going to get him out."

"May I ask what is it about him we need?" asked James as he looked at the man's picture.

* * *

><p>"You've earned the right to know, Falsworth." Said Wisdom three weeks later, observing the recently obtained Schmitt from behind a one-way mirror as Schmitt was being questioned by an agent.<p>

"You want know what Eric Schmitt did during the war? He worked for Hydra. Specifically, he worked alongside Dr. Abraham Erskine. Do you recognize that name?"

"Can't say I do."

"Your wife would. He was the intellect behind the creation of your old friend Captain Rogers."

"You mean…?"

"Yes."

James stared at the man beyond the glass in amazement.

"Where has he been all this time?"

"In hiding. Cleaver fellow; recognized he was working for a madman working for an idiot and when the time came, he managed to get away."

"How cleaver? As cleaver as Erskine?"

"Unknown at present, but according to everything we know, he was a subordinate. However, he knows more than anybody else, of that we can be sure.

"You've done fine work, Falsworth. Truly, England has gained a great weapon."

"Has it?"

"The Soviets and the Americans have helped themselves to the minds of the Third Reich and are building an arsenal, but neither really dares resort to it. We live in a world of assured mutual destruction, of potent weapons and sophisticated countermeasures, but the whole thing, as it always has, comes down to infantry.

"England is to develop a super-soldier program of its own. We have our Erskine, and we have our Steven Rogers."

"Sir?"

"Welcome to _Operation_ _Union Jack_, Major."

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R<strong>


End file.
